No Rest For The Wicked
by Dragonangelx003
Summary: Four glimpses into Skwisgaar and Toki's respective pasts. Slash in Chapter 4 only.
1. Chapter 1

Kloktoberfest challenge 2: Reasons

Rated: R

***warnings for language, violence, drugs, sex, child abuse, neglect, and more.

Note: I hate using the italic button whenever someone talks, so just assume that Skwisgaar and Toki are speaking their native tongue unless mentioned otherwise.

**No Rest For The Wicked**

1988

They didn't have Halloween in Norway. Least Toki Wartooth wasn't aware that they did.

Over the past few years American influences had seeped their way into the frozen, northern country. Everything from television shows, music, food, and especially holidays. Toki wasn't allowed to partake in any of these outlandish ideas and culture, lest he be corrupted by the sins of the world.

Or so he was told.

Living in a remote village in the middle-of-nowhere Norway acted as a fairly decent shield, and his father making him work during all his free time kept him occupied. 'Idle hands are the devils tools.' The Reverend- His father would say whenever he caught Toki daydreaming or taking a break from his chores.

One memorable, autumn day Toki had been 'volunteered' to help unload a truck load of vegetables for a local shop. As he was hauling a rather large bag of turnips he overheard a melody that made him stop and listen. Turning his head he scanned the street until he found the source.

A young woman across the square was picking out a pumpkin with her daughter. He had seen the woman before in the village along with the girl, but this was the first time Toki noticed how close and happy the two seemed to be. The little girl smiled when she looked up at her mother, and the woman returned the same affection. As she crouched down to her level and pointed to each orange vegetable on the shelf she sang.

'Oh out in the garden

some pumpkins I found.

They were biiiiiiig yellow pumpkins

that lay on the ground.

I gave away three

and now as you see

the pumpkin that's left I am saving for me.

I'll giiiive him a nose

and a mouth

and two eyes.

If you'll oooooonly come over

you'll have a surprise.

For high on the wall

I hope he wont fall

you'll see my big pumpkin

the best one of all.'

As the song came to an end, Toki found himself drawn to the pair. It was the little girl who noticed him first. "Hello." She said, smiling brightly. "What's your name?"

Toki smiled back. She was probably half his age, and already so social. In the little girls arms was a worn, brown teddy bear with a small forked tail. He felt a pang of regret that he never owned such a comforting toy.

"My name is Toki." He said to the girl before looking up to her mother. The young woman was holding a large pumpkin in her arms. Toki wondered how the two of them could possibly eat it all. "What are you going to bake out of that?"

The little girl giggled. "We're carving a jack-o-lantern out of it!" She said, throwing her arms up in excitement.

Toki frowned. "A what?"

"For All Hallows Eve." The woman said, bending down to their level and resting the orange mass in her lap. "You hollow it out, carve a face here, and put a candle in it to make it glow." She smiled at Toki's attentiveness. "Its suppose to ward away evil spirits, but we just do it for fun. You've never made one before?"

He shook his head. "No, I-" A faint breeze brushed the back of his neck and Toki froze. There was no mistaking the malevolent aura that had crept up on him. It was his father.

"You wretched whore!" The Reverend seethed, closing the distance between he and the young woman before backhanding her. Hard.

As she fell to the ground her daughter screamed, the pumpkin splitting open as it hit the frozen ground. "How dare you and your bastard child fill my sons head with such heathenish ideals!" He yelled as he stood over her and smacked her again.

Several of the villagers saw the scene, but none intervened. Reverend Aslaug Wartooth was the voice of God and ethics in Lillehammer. What did they care if he smacked an unmarried mother around? It was his God given right.

With the third slap something broke inside Toki. What he saw was not his father beating a demon, but a woman who was clearly a good and loving mother to her daughter, be damned the lack of paternity.

Before he was aware of his actions he charged. His eight-year-old frame not strong enough to knock the Reverend down, but the impact was enough to diverge his fathers wrath.

Next thing Toki knew he was being dragged away from the scene by the hair away Reaching up he latched onto his fathers wrist to lessen the tension as he thrashed against the frozen ground. Through the blur of forming tears he watched the little girl drop her bear and run to her mothers aid as she sat up, the side of her face already bruised.

Toki knew from experience that it could have been much worse for them.

He never saw either of them again.

Two hours later Toki watched through his swelling eye as his father slammed the shack door. The warmth in his body was leaving him quickly through the lash marks in his back and the metal shackles around his wrists. As usual, his mother did nothing to stop the onslaught as his father beat him to within an inch of his life and locked him away. In the small, dark shed the wood did little to shield the painfully cold wind that bit at the exposed, bruising skin of his face and arms.

Tears froze to the sides of his face as he let his head sag. His father claimed to be shielding him from a corrupted soul and damnation, but Hell was probably a vacation compared to this.

If he survived the night... If he managed to get out from under his parents hawkish watch... He would run away from this frigid, heartless mountain, and he would never look back.

The thought filled him with warm hope as he slipped into a welcomed unconsciousness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

His room -if you could call it that- was more like an off-shot, large, closet on the lower level of a brothel. It was big enough for a cot, a small trunk, a worn 1972 Gibson Explorer guitar, and Skwisgaar.

Once upon a time, the young Swede shared a room with his mother, Serveta Skwigelf, who was the beautiful and renowned Miss Sweden, 1956. After her fame and money began to wear thin she took advantage of her notoriety and beauty to become a top priced whore.

The same year as his guitar, the unexpected pregnancy of her now bastard son was discovered too late for an abortion... and he never stopped hearing from her how his birth had ruined her life. That it 'gave her stretch marks and veins in her tits that looked like a map of Stockholm.' As she so eloquently put it.

The instant someone decided to clean out the old storage closet in the basement (which was when he was 4), Skwisgaar dragged his blanket and pillow into it and slept alone, and in peace. Well...as 'in peace' you could in a 24 hour whore house.

These days, Skwisgaar spent most daylight hours sleeping, mostly to avoid his mother. Each day he would wait for her to finish her rounds before he ever exited his room. Her disappointed glare alone would ruin his whole night and put a foul taste in his mouth.

He knew it was twilight when he heard the familiar voices and footsteps of the day shift make their way back to their sleeping quarters overhead. When the feminine chatter died down he put his boots on along with his black jacket, and slung his guitar over his shoulder before exiting his cubbyhole. It was time for his work to start as well.

Making his way through the changing room the night shift girls greeted him warmly. One in particular always stood out. "Morning, Skwis-baby." Merit greeted him. She was his favorite out of anyone in the house, and if it wern't for the fact that she had jet black hair and burgundy eyes he would think she was his actual mother...or the closest thing he could get. "Sleep well?" She asked as she applied her eyeshadow.

"Shitty, as always." He responded as Merit lowered her brow at him. She couldn't stop him from doing his night job -since there were much worse things he could be doing- but she frowned upon him using poor language. "Sorry." He said apologetically.

Handing him a few small bills she lifted a hand to rub his cheek. "Eat something semi-healthy tonight, alright?" She said returning to her makeup. "Or you'll never grow up big and strong."

Skwisgaar rolled his eyes. At sixteen years old he was already almost six feet tall. Growing up wasn't a problem both physically or mentally. He may not know how to brew a cup of coffee, but he could take care of himself. "See you later, Merit."

"See you Skwisgaar." She turned to him, serious for a moment. "And be careful out there. There ain't no rest for the wicked, you know."

Skwisgaar shrugged his thin shoulders. "And money don't grown on trees." He said before exiting the dressing room and heading up the stairs.

At the main doors to the building the Matron, as he called her, was standing to greet and check in the Johns of the evening. She was an imposing woman, the kind that could knock the average guy on his ass if he got a little rough with one of her girls. That and she hid a shotgun under the counter just in case.

She looked down at him with a similar indifferent stare to his mother, but at least she acknowledged him when she needed something. "Going to work?" She asked him. When he nodded she reached into her ample cleavage and pulled out a large bill before handing it to Skwisgaar. "Pick me up some Vicodin tonight would you?"

"Yes, Matron." Skwisgaar said in the most respective voice he could conjure. He didn't much care for the woman, but considering she let him live under her roof rent free, so long as she got her drugs when she ordered them. He couldn't complain too much.

An hour after swinging by his boss's den for a pickup, Skwisgaar found himself on stage along side three men twice his age. The band Gangagar Eldeleel-Alele played thrash metal at various clubs and bars around the Stockholm area. Skwisgaar was permitted to play with them for three reasons. One, he could score them some serious drugs on the cheap because he was a runner for a local kingpin. Two, because people flocked to their band for the novelty of watching a teenager play with the pro's. And three, because that sixteen year old was keeping up with the rest of them!

Skwisgaar couldn't read music so the band never even attempted to tell him specific notes to play. They would just start the song as they had planned it and Skwisgaar would close his eyes, fingers on the strings. Something inside him spoke when it was time and his fingers would begin to move. He rarely saw the entire crowd turn their eyes to him, but when the song ended the crowd would scream, whistle, and bestow thunderous applause...with the occasional undergarment.

Skwisgaar was a prodigy.

After the show the groupies would gather while the roadies cleaned up the stage. Meanwhile Skwisgaar distributed the drugs, gathered the money and bid his band mates farewell. "See you fuckers tomorrow night."

Alrik, the vocalist, pulled away from a groupie and dashed after him before he got to the door. "Hey Skwis, hold up."

"Yeah?" He asked.

The older man became rather serious suddenly. "Listen man, I know you're young and all, but the rest of the band and I are going on tour soon. Not that you need to ask your-" Skwisgaar shot him an icy glare at the potential mentioning of his mother. "...I mean not that you need to ask _anyone_ permission to leave or anything, but we know you've got a decent second job, and friends here in Stockholm. We would be on the road for a long time, but we want you to come with us."

Skwisgaar didn't really have any friends, and the only person he would actually miss would be Merit. His job as a drug runner was quite profitable, but it didn't make him as happy as he was on stage. Either way he would consult Merit on it, she would be the only voice he would trust. "When would you be leaving?" He asked, his blue eyes at level with the other mans.

"A week."

"I'll think about it and get back to you tomorrow night. Alright?"

"Cool man. Sounds good." He said before turning and returning to his awaiting groupies.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had been two days since he was brought back in from the shed and tossed into his room. He had access to water, but was given no food as per his punishment. Luckily Toki had a jar of pickled herring and a few old, stale rolls under his floor boards, along with a small amount of money he had earned in tips during his various jobs in the village.

Throwing on some thermals, jeans and an old sweatshirt, he packed up his food and money before putting an ear to his bedroom door. His parents didn't talk amongst themselves very much, but he could hear them moving on the other side of the house. It would be more timely to wait until they had both fallen asleep, but his father locked his bedroom door at night and the window was too far from the ground to jump. So he would have to risk it while they were distracted with dinner.

Very slowly he opened his door and inched his way out into the hallway. Holding his boots in one hand he crept down the old, creaky stairs. Making sure not to step on the boards that made noise. Glancing into the kitchen he saw his mother at the stove and his father reading at the table. Thankfully neither had noticed him.

His parka hung on a hook in the doorway to the dining room, but there was no way he could get it without giving himself away. He cringed, remembering how cold it was outside. His gloves were with the parka too he realized with a grimace. He would just have to keep moving to keep himself warm.

Touching the cold doorknob he turned it slowly, opening it just enough to duck out before closing it just as silently behind him. Safely on the porch he let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding as he slipped on his boots before turning to the yard.

There was over a foot of snow on the ground.

A storm must have hit while Toki was unconscious. He was good at moving in snow, but when it came up to his knees it would slow him down considerably. Not to mention his father could follow his tracks when he was discovered missing not too long from now.

Thinking quickly he scanned the porch for something that could help. There wasn't much aside from a few chairs, a table, empty flower pots, a snow shovel, and a decorative shield and sword set hanging near the door.

An idea struck Toki as he stood on one of the chairs and pulled the smooth shield down from its nail. As he did so the sword slipped loose as well and began to fall to the ground. With adrenaline fueled speed he reached down and grabbed the hilt an inch before the sword struck the icy wood.

Letting out a relieved breath he made to step down from the chair and promptly slipped on a patch of ice. The back of his head hit the frozen wood, making him see stars as the shield and sword clattered loudly to the ground.

Ignoring the pain and the spinning in his vision Toki scrambled to his feet, grabbed the shield and launched himself off the porch as the light from the front door poured onto the white.

The top of the snow was harder than he thought it was, allowing his makeshift toboggan to gain speed quickly as it barreled uncontrollably down the mountain. In the background he heard his fathers angry yells, but was too preoccupied to care. His fingers, already numb, clutched the edge of the round shield as the icy wind made his eyes water.

It would probably be safer if he were to dig in his feet and slow his descent, but a voice in his head screamed 'I can't slow down., I can't hold back,' and ya know he wished he could. But if he were caught he would not survive another beating like the one he was still healing from. It was an absolute miracle that he didn't hit a rock or tree during his swift decline.

In a surprisingly short amount of time the snow began to thin and turn into frozen, icy ground before ending near the village he was in two days ago. His sled ground slowly against the hard dirt and Toki was on his feet and running before it came to a complete stop.

The main square was busy with its last minute patrons and restaurant goers, none of which paid him any heed as he sprinted through the streets. He had planned his escape from his house, but what to do now was the question.

Ducking down an alleyway and emerging on the other side he nearly got clothes-lined by a shelf of produce. Crouching underneath it out of the crowds eye, he caught his breath. What now?

Leaning his hands back to brace himself his fingers grazed something soft and fuzzy. Pulling away instinctively he thought it was a dead animal at first, but upon further inspection in the dim light he saw that it was a small stuffed bear with a forked tail. Picking it up he looked at its blank face and his eyes began to water for reasons that he couldn't exactly place. Holding the stuffed toy to his chest tightly he began to sob.

What was he thinking? There was no way he would be able to get out of this village alive, and if he did there was a good chance he would freeze to death before the night was over. Slowly he sank further into hopelessness for several long moments until the door to the nearby shop opened.

Before Toki was aware of his surroundings a strong pair of arms picked him up an carried him into the warm shop. When his eyes adjusted to the light he recognized the person before him. It was the shop owner, Boris. Toki had done some work for him earlier in the season. "What in the Gods names are you doing out there at this hour? Where is your coat?"

Toki turned his head to hide his black eye, but said nothing. He would be sent back to his father for sure now, and the thought brought new tears to his eyes, stinging his swollen cheek as they flowed. "The Reverend did this to you, didn't he Toki?" The old mans voice sounded quiet and concerned. Not a tone the boy was accustomed to hearing. Slowly, he nodded. "And you ran away?" He nodded again. "What were you thinking? I mean I can imagine the _reason _you're running away but do you have a plan to get further than the village?"

Toki sniffled. "No." He held the bear tighter to his chest.

Boris paused for a long moment, thinking to himself before he spoke again. "Toki, look at me." He turned his good eye to the shop owner. "I saw how you tried to defend that woman the other day. That was very brave of you." Toki's eye widened. Nobody had complemented him on his actions before. "Go in the back room and grab a first aid kit and whatever food you can fit in your bag. There's a truck headed to Oslo in an hour and I'll be damned if you're not on it."

Toki's jaw dropped. This man he barely knew was going to risk the Reverend's wrath to help him? "But...I..." He stammered.

"Well don't just gawk at me, go!"

Toki nodded and dashed into the storage closet. Grabbing a small first aid kit first before turning his attention to some jerky, a few apples, crackers, granola bars, a bottle of goats milk, a block of cheese, and a handful of hard candy. When he returned to the main room he found Boris going through his closet. "Here." He said handing Toki a parka two sizes too big and a pair of gloves that were equally as awkward. "Sorry, but its better than nothing. C'mon, lets get you out of here." He said as they hurried out the door.

A few moments later Toki was being helped up into the back of a large box truck. Nestling himself into a corner he wrapped his oversized parka around himself tightly. "Thank you." He whispered to Boris as the doors were sealed shut.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Skwisgaar finished his delivery rounds early and turned to head back to the brothel. Perhaps he could catch Merit in between Johns and ask her opinion on the matter of leaving Stockholm. It would be good to travel a bit and see the rest of Scandinavia, if not Europe. Not to mention the extra money would be a plus.

And then there were the groupies.

The guitarist was young but he was no stranger to sex. Normally he would have to make his delivery rounds after a gig, but on the few nights he had a break he was able to enjoy the perks of being in music. It was really something he could get use to. The best perk of all would be that he would be far away from his mother. That was the driving force in his decision.

Still he would ask Merits opinion when he saw her.

Rounding the corner he bumped into a thin, stoned looking man who seemed to be in too much of a hurry to acknowledge him. "Watch where you're going, Dildo!" Skwisgaar yelled, flipping him off as he disappeared behind a corner.

Dusting off his jacket he felt something wet against his hand, holding it up into the street light he saw his fingers glistening with blood. Checking himself quickly he found it only on the outside of his black jacket. It wasn't his.

A scream from the direction of the brothel brought him out of his thoughts. Before he realized it he was sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him. When he got to the house he took the front steps three at a time and barreled through the door. Gasping he yelled, "What happened?!"

The Matron came up to him, shot gun in her hands, her face white with horror. "Don't go in there, Skwisgaar." She whispered.

"Why?" He ordered. "Tell me what happened!"

"Don't worry its not Serveta." The Matron said in what he assumed was supposed to be reassurance.

"I don't give a fuck if its her!" He got right in her face. "What!? Happened!?"

The Matrons eyes were wide with fear as the gun in her hands trembled. "Merit..." She whispered. "Skwisgaar don't go in there!" She yelled as he tore off down the hall to Merits room. In the hallway there were several horrified woman, crying into each others shoulders. Throwing open her door he choked on his breath at the sight.

Merit lay naked in her blood stained bed, her throat slashed ear to ear. Her wine colored eyes stared silently back at him as the drying blood plastered her hair to the side of her pale face.

Skwisgaar was suddenly and violently ill.

When he finished emptying his stomach into the trash bin he stormed back out of the room to the Matron. "Who was her John?" He seethed with almost unnatural calm.

Swallowing hard, she checked her books. "Vendel Birkl." She said. "I knew there was something wrong with him." She began to sob. "He looked high as a kite when he walked in the door, but he paid double up front and...oh Skwisgaar I'm so sorry."

_Vendel_, Skwisgaar thought. He had seen that name before.

Placing his guitar down behind the counter he turned and vanished once again out the front door before Matron could say another word.

Moments later he was at the doorstep of his dealer, panting from the run. When he caught his breath and gathered himself he knocked three times. The door cracked open and he whispered the password "Oberon sent me" before it swung open the rest of the way. Nodding to the door guard he made a b-line to the meth lab where he found Gustav, the house leader overlooking production. He was wearing an air filter over his face.

Casually he walked up to the dealer, trying his best not to inhale the vapors. "Hey Gustav, got any new product lately? I've got a customer asking for something stronger." He asked before pulling his shirt up over his nose and mouth.

Gustav said nothing as he reached behind him and picked up a pinch of crystals up with a tongue depressor and placed them in a pouch before handing them to Skwisgaar. "Thanks boss. Oh, and do you remember the address of Vendel Birkl? He owes me for last nights delivery at the bar and a friend of his says he's hiding at his old house." Again without speaking, the large drug lord pulled out a small black book and flipped the pages before pointing to an address. "Great. See you tomorrow night." He said casually before exiting the room.

A short while later, Skwisgaar was knocking on the door of a small building that should have been long condemned. When nobody answered he knocked again before he heard some movement inside. When the door opened, Skwisgaar tried not to look like death incarnate as the man he bumped into earlier stood in the doorway. This was the man who had killed Merit.

The guitarist tried to ignore the blood under the mans finger nails as he tapped them against the door frame. "What do you want kid?" He asked angrily. His expression changed however when Skwisgaar held up a small bag of crystals.

"Boss has a new flavor on the market and I've been told to give out samples to our best customers, but if you're having a bad night I can come back some other ti-"

"No no no, that's fine." Vendel interrupted, suddenly very friendly. "Come in, come in."

Like he usually did during a deal, Skwisgaar handed the man the small pouch and stood aside as he dumped the contents on a mirror and began to crush it up with the back of a spoon. "Have a rough night?" Skwisgaar asked, as his gloved fingers slid around a warped pool stick that leaned against the scratched-to-shit billiard table. He held it in his hands, finding the balance and heft appropriate.

Rolling up a bill, Vendel snorted a line and leaned his head back to feel the rush. "Yeah." Sniff. "Had some bad luck with this whore."

"Do tell." He said as he inched forward behind the man, stick gripped tightly in both hands. His eyes burned with blue, icy, fire. "How's the ice?"

"It's some good shit man." He bent over the mirror to take another sniff. "How much does this stuff co-"

The thick end of the stick splintered at it made contact with the back of Vendels head, mashing his face into the mirror which shattered into a thousand pieces.

Bringing it down a few final times before tossing what was left of the stick to the side, Skwisgaar turned heel and left the building. Somehow he imagined taking a life would feel more brutal, more cold, more...intense.

It didn't.

Knowing the habits of a meth-head, nobody would think twice of not seeing Vendel for several days. By the time anyone found his body and collapsed scull, Skwisgaar would be long gone. On tour with the rest of his band.

*

*

Oh no there ain't no rest for the wicked. Until we close our eyes for good.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

DONE!

Sadly no slash in this one, but perhaps if I get enough reviews I'll turn this into a series that leads up to some.

I must give credit to my own mother, Nancy for singing that pumpkin song to me as a child, and credit to Cage The Elephant for Aint No Rest For The Wicked lyrics that are scattered about the story.

Reviews = Brutal Love


	2. Chapter 2

People asked for it, so here's another chapter. I've decided to turn this into a triple chapter story. Enjoy

Also, just as a note: People who come from abusive childhoods tend to be able to read facial expressions better than others, and those who have never experienced true affection don't recognize it when they are receiving it.

**Luck o' the Irish**

1997- March 17th

Have you ever eaten out of a dumpster? No? Well its not nearly as bad as most people think it is. Especially if you know where to look. Summer of course has the best pickings, especially at the farmers market dumpsters. Peaches, berries, zucchini, tomatoes, beans, and even watermelons. The fall and early winter yielded squash, broccoli, dates, kale, and even apples. It's amazing what people throw out because of a black spot or thumb print. During the late winter and spring the market dumpsters were sparse, so the back alleys of bakeries and supermarkets were where Toki found most of his food.

Granted, in his travels, Toki had spent a few nights here and there at shelters or youth hostels. Places that exchanged minor labor for food and a bed. Some of which were quite comfortable and would probably be nice to stay at for more than a week. However, there was one thing that kept Toki Wartooth moving.

His father.

If he was in any one place for more than a few nights the anxiety and nightmares would begin to claw at him. Nightmares of being shackled to the wall of the tool shed. Nightmares of being whipped and starved. Nightmares of being dragged back into the cold darkness that was that unforgiving, mountain house.

By this point Toki knew that it was absurd to think that his father would track him as far as Ireland. Even if he used all his connections in the clergy to assist in the hunt, Toki hadn't held any on-the-books jobs, owned any credit cards, or had his name on any leases or official statements of any kind. To think that his father was even still looking for him was absurd, but his nightmares didn't know that.

Toki was sick of waking up in a cold sweat, but he was sick of running even more. He craved a stable roof over his head, more clothes than could fit in a backpack, people around him who knew his name, access to a shower, and even something as simple as a bed.

Sighing, Toki leaned back into the weather beaten, cracked leather of the ferry bench and yawned. At his side was an extremely haggard black backpack, stuffed with a few changes of clothes, a toothbrush, a pocket knife, and a well loved brown teddy bear. Leaning against his leg -its shoulder strap wrapped around his ankle- was an extremely worn Flying V Gibson guitar.

He'd acquired it almost 6 years ago.

He was doing some labor at a small music shop in Halmstad, moving boxes, stocking shelves, and whatnot. After finishing his work for the day he walked into the back room to take a breather. Leaning against an amp to one side of the room was a guitar, plugged in and waiting to be played. Checking to see that nobody was in the room he walked over cautiously and picked up the instrument. It was lighter than it looked and almost felt right in his hands. Checking again that he was alone he slung the shoulder strap over his head and began to strum at the stiff metallic strings. When the notes hit his ears he paused. Toki had never played an instrument before, he was never allowed to. Glancing around to make sure no one had heard him he moved his finger to a new set of strings and strummed again.

Moments later he was moving his fingers faster and playing a tune that was unrecognizable, but a tune none the less. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips for the first time in a long while as he closed his eyes and continued to play. For a moment he forgot what he was running from, from what made him leave home or where he would go next. It was only the music. It was something he could control. It was freedom.

When he heard a small rustle behind him, he froze. Preparing himself for a yelling or worse, he pulled the guitar strap over his head and set it aside before turning around to face the store owner. Toki wondered how long he had been standing there.

"_Sorry_." Toki said in Swedish.

Arms crossed the store owner leaned against the door frame, saying nothing for a long moment. Taking the silence as a hint, Toki made to leave.

"_Where'd you learn to play?_" The shop owner asked.

Toki looked up to the older man, surprised. "_Um...I...never._"

His eyebrows perked up. "_That was the first time you've played?_" Toki nodded. Rubbing his bristly chin the shop owner seemed to consider something for a moment before telling Toki to "_stay there for a minute._" Vacating to an adjacent room he returned a moment later with a slightly worn, black and white, Flying V Gibson. "_Its all scuffed up on one side from shipping so I can't sell it. If you want to do a little more work around the place, I'll let you have it."_

That was the second time someone had given him something that changed his life. The first being when Boris provided him with supplies and loaded him into a box van, giving him his freedom. Well... as free as one can be whilst being chased by ghosts.

The overhead ferry speakers blared a metallic voice, pulling Toki out of his doze. As he rubbed his stiff neck the voice spoke. "We will be docking in five minutes. All passengers traveling by vehicle please return to your cars on the lower deck. All pedestrian passengers report to the front of the boat for exit. Happy St. Patrick's Day, have a fun and safe holiday."

Standing up the Norwegian stretched, his spine popping in select sore places before he hoisted his backpack up and slung his guitar over his shoulder. If the small tryout he had lined up yielded any fruit, maybe he would get a steady music job and earn enough money to put a deposit on an apartment and stop running, or at least a decent meal.

As he looked over the bow of the boat to the Belfast port, Toki hoped that the luck o' the Irish would be with him.

* * *

"_Rumors of last weeks cafe' bombing in Listburn being the act of the IRA have been disproved. Officials investigating the case believe it to be a separate group or individual who is attempting to copy-cat the methods of the IRA to throw off the investigation. The police warn individuals to be observant and cautious this holiday season and if you see any suspicious activity to con-"_

The feminine voice on the radio was cut off as Wren, the vocalist of Fuckface Academy, glared down at the blonde Swede who was suppose to be at band practice an hour ago. Skwisgaar was lounging back in the black leather couch of their tour bus, shiny Gibson Explorer across his narrow waist. He strummed it idly, pretending his band mate wasn't burning a hole in his forehead. "Why weren't you at band practice Skwisgaar?" He asked in an annoyed Irish accent.

"I am no needings to practice." Skwisgaar responded in his own poor English.

The vocalist's brow furrowed in frustration. "That doesn't matter! The rest of us need to get our timing down. The fact that you think you're Gods gift to music doesn't matter on stage if the rest of us aren't seamless with it! We're heading to New York next week and I for one don't want to be booed off the stage!" He said waving the cruise tickets to The Hamptons in Skwisgaars face.

"Ja." Skwisgaar said, not looking up from his guitar. "Den perhapks I should be finding band dat can keeps up." Even though he wasn't looking at his band mate, he could feel the anger radiating from him. Instead of venting and possibly breaking Skwisgaars nose, Wren threw the tickets down on the table and stormed out of the room, slamming the door.

Skwisgaar looked at the tickets on the table and huffed. He really didn't want to be stuck on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic with those dildos.

Fuckface Academy was a good band, but it didn't hold the challenge he craved or the mass media outlets he desired. Skwisgaar wanted to be a legend. Skwisgaar wanted to be a Metal God. This band just wasn't going to do it for him. It was a drug that had long since lost its high.

Sighing to himself he grabbed the tickets and put them in his wallet so at least they wouldn't get lost. Swinging his Gibson over his back the blonde exited the bus. Perhaps a local pub would provide some sorely needed excitement, a stiff drink, and maybe even a good fuck if Lady Luck was on his side.

* * *

The audition was a wash. Toki was supposed to tryout for a small band in Dublin tomorrow, but when he called from the port to confirm the band was not only shitfaced already, but they had found someone else. Luck of the Irish eh?

Sitting at a small pub the Norwegian sipped on a cheap beer. If there was a time to have a drink and wallow in self pity, now would be it. There was some Celtic music playing overhead, a song Toki recognized as The Blood of Cuchulain. An upbeat melody without words that reminded him of a song that would play when a loved one was coming home. He couldn't quite place why.

When the song came to an end a rotund man approached the small stages spotlight and waved his hands high to get peoples attention. "And now put your hands together and welcome our own Tiffany to the stage." Some light clapping came from the few that heard the man over their own celebrations as Toki turned towards the spotlight.

A young woman with auburn hair and bright green eyes approached the stage. She was wearing a brown skirt and an emerald green button up shirt, accenting her figure. Placing her mouth to the microphone she said "This one is for my brother." The boisterous roar of the crowd quieted down a little and went totally silent when she began to sing. "Clap along if you do feel so inclined."

"It seems like only yesterday I left the port from Cork

and on the ship from Erin's Isle I landed in New York

Not a devil a soul to greet me there

just strangers on the shore

But me fortune smiled upon me and the riches came galore

So now the times go back again to dear old Erin's Isle

Me friends will greet me on the pier and meet me with a smile

There'll be thousands that I've surely forgot

I've been so long away

and me mother will introduce them all and this to me she'll say

Shake hands with your Uncle Mike me boy

and here's your sister Kate

and there's the girl you used to swing down by the garden gate

shake hands with all your neighbors

kiss the Coleen's all

You're as welcome as the flowers in may in dear ol Donny Gaul

Oh there came a party when I'd come home

and they come from near and far

And they line the roads for miles and miles with Irish Johnson cars

and the whiskey flew like buttermilk

fill your heart with joy

And the piper will play an Irish tune to greet the Yankee boy."

The audience was clapping along to the beat at this point.

"So dance and sing the whole night long

such joy you've never seen

The boy's will be decked in corduroy, the girls be wearing green

shake hands with all your neighbors

kiss the Coleen's all

You're as welcome as the flowers in may in dear ol Donny Gaul

Then came Ranniga, Flannigan, Milligan, Gilligan, Duffy, McCuffy, Malarkey, Malone.

Raffady, Daffidy, Donnel, O' Connel, Tooley, O'Holey, Calarney, Calone.

Colonohan, Hoolahan, Ranahan, Flanahan, Fegan, O'Hagen, O'Hoolagan, Flyn

Kelly, O'Kelley, McGuinnis, McGin!"

A roar of applause and whistles rose and fell after the verse.

"And I shook the hand of me Uncle Mike

and the hand of me sister Kate

And I'll kiss and I'll squeeze as much as I please the girl by the garden gate

And We'll invite all the neighbors

To a wedding, gray and smaaaaaaaaall

And we'll live content and pay no rent! In dear ol Donny Gaul.

UP TIP!"

Applause, shouts, and whistles were heard from all corners of the pub as Tiffany bowed and smiled. "Top that and you eat for free tonight!"

That last perked Toki's interest, although he didn't think anyone else heard it over the roar of applause. Considering he was restraining himself from eating the entire bowl of peanuts on the bar, he figured he'd give it a try. Waving down Tiffany, he asked "Whats is de...um...details of playing for free foods?" He said, trying best to remember his English.

After traveling for so long he could understand and speak Swedish, and English he could understand for the most part. Speaking it on the other hand, was a bit of a challenge.

Tiffany gave him a warm smile. "Sweetheart, if you can play something Irish that gets the crowd to stick around and buy more beer you've got yourself a deal."

Toki smiled. "Do you haves an amp?"

* * *

The inside of the pub was dim, but cozy. The entire building was crafted from wood, red brick, and brass fixtures that had aged well over several decades. Candles on the tables and the amber light from the bar gave the sitting area a warm, homey feel despite the bite of the chill outside.

Scanning the room Skwisgaar cut a path in the inebriated crowd to the only vacant seat at the bar. Sitting down in the still-warm seat he waited for the emerald eyed bartender to meander his way. When she finished dispensing beverages to the other patrons she approached the Swede. "What can I do ya for hon?"

Skwisgaar dealt out one of his heart-melting smiles as he leaned in over the bar. "I tinks I ams needing a Guinness and perhapks your company laters?"

She shot a well practiced smile back. "The drink I can get for you Mr. Charisma, but I think my husband was counting on my company tonight."

The blonde shrugged, there would be other ladies to snag before the evening was over. "Dat's shames." He said as she placed the dark beer in front of him. As he took the first sip he heard the whine of an electric guitar over the crowd. Turning to the stage he watched a young man strum at a Flying V that looked more worn then the bar-top. The kid didn't look much better. As the notes began to peel together the tune resounding was not what he expected. Instead of being heavy and angry, like most music coming from an electric guitar was, it was high and light spirited. Like a song that would play when a loved one was coming home. He couldn't place why.

After a moment the haggard young man had the attention of nearly everyone in the bar. The audience clapping along to the beat as some swayed their hips and danced lightly. Without knowing it, Skwisgaar tapped the heel of his boot against the bar stool.

He hadn't seen someone play from the heart like this young man was in quite a while. The brunette may have missed a note here or there, but Skwisgaar could practically feel the light emotion emanating from the strings. It was a stark contrast to the malice, spite, and pent up hatred that the Swede usually poured into his own music.

With a final strum the last note resounded through the intoxicated masses, initiating uproarious applause and whistles. Smiling to the crowd he waved a light thanks before unplugging his guitar and heading back to the bar.

Upon returning to the bar he found all the stools occupied, including the one he was sitting in. Shrugging he simply pinched in between Skwisgaar and another patron and waved to the bartender. When the woman noticed him, she smiled. "I've never heard The Blood of Cuchulain played like that before."

The young man smiled. "So dat's good enough?"

She winked at him. "I think that earned you a plate of the house special tonight. Just a second Sugar, I'll get you some." As she turned and vanished behind the double swinging doors, the patron in the adjacent stool vacated to chat with a pretty young thing across the room. Slipping into the seat the young man slid his guitar off his shoulder and rested it against the bar, in between his legs.

"Dat ams interesting playinks." Said Skwisgaar, lighting a cigarette.

The young man looked up at him, seeming at first that he was unsure if he was the one being spoken to. "Hm?" He asked looking up at the Swede.

Now that Skwisgaar got a good look at the young guitarist he saw something he hadn't noticed earlier. His clothes, although clean, were threadbare and tattered at the edges, much like his hair. The brown locks fell to his shoulders and looked as if they had been cut with a knife more than a pair of scissors. His tired face looked tired, but there was a hopeful glint in his blue eyes. He looked like someone who had grown up far too much in such a short amount of time.

He had seen it before, in the mirror.

"Yes, you. Dat was good music. Where you learn to play likes dat?"

He shrugged. "Here and dere. Nobody's really teach me." A curious look crossed his face. "Do I knows you from somewhere?"

Skwisgaar shrugged.

"I do!" He beamed. "You're de lead guitarist of Fuckface Academy, I see you on poster at de port. Skwisgaar, right?"

Skwisgaar exhaled smoke. "Ja. T'ough betweens you and me de band not much longer lastings."

As he spoke a large, hot plate of corned beef, potatoes, and cabbage was placed on the bar. "There you go sweetheart. Enjoy." She had barely turned around before the young man began to shovel food into his mouth. Skwisgaar raised an eyebrow as he spoke between bites.

"Why? Is da band breakings up?" He asked before shoving half a potato in his mouth.

"Sorts of." He said, extinguishing his cigarette in the ashtray. As if on cue the snide brogue of Wren, the vocalist washed in over the crowds dull roar. Peeking over the heads of the patrons Skwisgaar caught a glimpse of his band mates at a table across the room. Wren looked pissed.

Crumpling up his empty pack of cigarets he turned to the young man finishing his plate. "I am goings next door to gets some smoke. You wants to come...eh...what I calls you?"

He swallowed a rather large mouthful of corned beef. "Toki, and yeah I come."

"Nice to be meetings you Little Toki." He said as he paid for his drink and picked up his guitar. Toki did the same and followed him through the crowd, weaving his way through the mass of drunken forms.

The brisk night air outside the pub was refreshing compared to the smokey, stuffiness of the bar. The company was certainly less hostile. He was flattered that Toki had recognized him from a poster, (he had become accustomed to people in the metal circles knowing his face) but it was nice not to have someone fawning over him like the typical fan.

After purchasing his smokes the pair stood outside the convenience store as Skwisgaar lit up another cigarette. Normally he didn't smoke quite so much, but the circumstances called for an excuse to stay outside the bar for the moment. Turning to Toki he held out his pack as an offering, but the young man shook his head. "No, t'anks." He said

Skwisgaar shrugged and leaned back into the brick siding of the pub. "So what ams bringing you to de Emeralds Isle?"

Toki's face sank. "I was going to auditions, but dey find someone else." He sighed regretfully.

Exhaling smoke through his nose the blonde smiled down to the brunette. "T'ere loss. Dare I t'inks dat with time you might be almost as good as me with de guitars."

Beaming up at him, Toki gave a legitimate smile. "You tinks so?"

"Ja...almost" Skwisgaar gave an almost unnoticeable smile back. "So what you do now wit your gigs not workings out?"

Toki shrugged, his smile faded. "I don't know."

Flicking his cigarette into the gutter he mentally groaned, he really didn't want to go back into the same pub the rest of his band (or potentially ex-band) was occupying. Even if they didn't notice him he would know they were there and wouldn't be able to enjoy himself.

Looking down the block he noticed the small neon sign of a Pool Hall. "Ams you good at de pool sticks?" He asked Toki.

"I okay. I only play a few times."

Skwisgaar began to walk down the damp street, his boots splashing through puddles. "Wants to play?"

About an hour later Skwisgaar was 4 and 0 with his new acquaintance. Toki was alright at the game, but the blonde was a little better. Granted he usually spent quite a bit more time picking up women rather than play pool while in bars. Billiards was a good game, but every time he picked up a pool stick he had a bit of a flashback to the unfortunate/fortunate week he left Stockholm. Shaking himself out of his thoughts he watched Toki sink the nine ball.

"_So you're from Sweden, right?_" Toki said, in a familiar tongue.

"_Yeah, but I haven't been home for several years... now._" Skwisgaar looked confused for a moment after he spoke before looking up to the smirking face of his opponent. "_You know Swedish?"_ He said in his mother language.

Toki nodded proudly. "_I recognized your accent. I traveled through Sweden for a few years. Needed to pick it up to survive. What about you? Speak anything other than broken English?_"

Skwisgaar scoffed. "_Like yours is any better_."

Toki shrugged. "_It is a bit, but not by much._" The brunette became serious for a moment. _"Why do you make that odd face every now and then when you play? You just made it again just now."_

Skwisgaar put on his blank face and changed the subject. "_I have a challenge for you." _Toki leaned against the pool table, attentive. _"You are currently two points up, if you win this round I will give you a free cruise ticket to New York."_

Toki's eyes went wide, not believing what he was hearing. "_And if I loose?" _

Skwisgaar thought for a moment. _"Then you have to be my personal roadie and carry my crap around for a year." _

Toki considered his options. If he won he would be heading to the States, if he lost he would at the very least have a job. _"Deal." _

The game was closer than Skwisgaar would have thought it would be. He wasn't sure if Toki was trying to loose or trying to win. He was hitting most of the difficult shots, but when there was a simple opening he would miss. Now it was just the two of them battling for the 8 ball, and it was Skwisgaars turn.

The 8 ball was two inches from the corner pocket and it was a shot even a novice could get. It was an easy win. Confident with his victory the Swede lined up the shot and called "_Eight ball, corner pocket." _Taking the shot the 8 ball went into the pocket as expected.

An instant before the Q-ball followed it in.

"_Son-of-a-bitch!"_ He hissed as Toki watched in disbelief. Staying silent the brunet matched blue eyes with the blonde and gave a wary smile.

"_Did I just win?" _

Skwisgaar huffed loudly. He could care less about the cruise ticket, but he didn't like loosing. At all. Ever. _"Yes, you did." _Opening his wallet he pulled out the cruise ticket, handing it over the bear billiard table. _"Just try and avoid a dildo named Wren and the rest of the Fuckface's. They tend to hang out on the topless deck."_

Toki suddenly felt guilty for winning by default. "_How are you getting to New York then? What about your band?"_

Skwisgaar shrugged. "_They can find someone else to fill my shoes... if they can." _He added with a small smirk. _"Besides, I was considering taking a flight to Florida instead. There's a new band forming there that seems pretty metal. They need a lead guitarist. It's worth a shot." _

"_That sounds promising. What's the band called?"  
_

"_Dethklok." _

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

That's a comparatively long chapter for me, but I just couldn't stop.

Reviews = Brutal Love


	3. Chapter 3

AN: For those of you who want a visual of this opening scene, type in "Sag Harbor" in on Deviantart (or whatever search you like) to see. Its my home town. :)

Also, I don't know the name of the Dethklok member before Toki came along, but according to his signature in Season 3 Ep. 1 the initials look like M.H. Which is what I'm going to refer to him as. When I figure out his real name I'll fix it.

**Changing of the Tides**

August, 2002

Laura was still awake as the sun cracked the horizon of Sag Harbor. Sitting atop the tuna tower gave her a gorgeous view as the golden light was cast across the wharf, turning the black-blue waters into sparking amber. No matter how many days started like this, she never got tired of it.

To her right a crow landed on the pier and cackled at her. "Sorry Eric, no bait this morning." With a flap of its wings it closed the distance and landed on the railing she, herself, was leaning on. He grabbed a piece of her sun streaked hair in persistence. Sighing she bit a corner off of her buttered roll and held it out as he pecked at it gratefully. "You shit on my boat and your chum. Understand?" The bird cackled again before flying off to pester another captain.

Glancing at her watch (which was held together with duct tape) she figured it was time to get moving. Climbing over the railing she shimmied her way down to the deck before making her way to the cabins.

Opening the door to the crew quarters she smirked and leaned against the door frame. In the small bed were two forms tucked loosely under a sheet, one with long brown hair, the other with even longer blonde. Closing the distance she reached down and lightly shook the brunets shoulder. "Toki...Toki its morning. Time to get up. Better get ready, we've got a three hour drive if we're gonna beat the traffic."

Slowly, Toki peeled away from the young woman sleeping next to him. Laura looked at the bookshelf on the wall to avoid seeing more feminine flesh than she would have liked. "Ja, Captains." He said groggily.

"There's buttered rolls and coffee in the galley. Be sure to hit up rain locker and trim that mustache a bit. Kay? You don't want to be auditioning smelling of salt water and sex, do ya?" Toki smirked and blushed at her comment.

After seeing his 'date' off he grabbed a roll and coffee before heading to the bow of the Lil Yankee. While he watched the other charter boats leave the cove he reflected on the past few years.

Not long after getting off the cruise ship did he start job hunting, but other than knowing how to play a guitar and being capable of manual labor he didn't have any marketable job skills. Not having a US drivers license or address didn't help things either.

Several days later he was watching the fishing boats come into the harbor with their catch for the evening. One boat in particular stood out. It wasn't quite as streamline and shiny as some of the other yachts in port, but it wasn't decrepit and rusted through like some of the others either. It seemed broken in, functional, and judging from the haul, successful.

Standing on the pier, guitar and backpack over one shoulder he watched as the crew of the Lil Yankee load fish into orange laundry baskets to be weighed.

The individual in charge, to Toki's surprise, seemed to be a woman in her late twenties. She didn't wear anything to indicate as such nor did she shout orders or dominate her crew. There was simply an air of her that felt like if she asked something of you, you probably should do it. "Hey Bub!" The woman called, looking directly at him.

"Yes?" He asked, wondering what Bub meant.

"You wanna make a few bucks? I'm a little short handed." She said holding up one hand, two fingers wrapped together with white bandages. She laughed lightly at herself.*

*Slicing squid bait on a boat in the riptides is harder than it looks.

For the next hour he helped her and the other two members of her crew move several loads of scup, blue fish, stripped bass, and -to Toki's surprise- a six foot mako shark. When all the cargo was unloaded Toki watched as the woman spoke to the men at the pier as they exchanged information and money before bidding them farewell.

Returning to the guitarist she pulled two twenty dollar bills from her wad and handed them to him. "You've got some serious hustle in ya. Whoever's employin' ya is lucky."

Toki looked up at her a little ashamed. "I's not employed."

Her expression didn't show pity like he expected, but her head turned to the side for a moment as if in thought. "How open is your schedule?"

"It very opens." He answered.

"Got anywhere to live?" His face sank, not wanting to seem a vagabond, which he was. She took his silence as a 'no'. "Is that backpack all your clothes?" He nodded. "Do you get seasick?"

"Not dats I know of."

"Can you tie a knot and take orders?"

"Ja."

She paused a moment longer, leaving Toki nervous. What was with all the questions?

"Then you're hired." She said turning around and going back to her boat. "You can put your shit on the bottom bunk in the cabin, then head back up here to help me wash off the gear." She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. "And that's Captain to you, now."

Sag Harbor was a nice little drinking town with a fishing problem. The locals seemed quite down to Earth and content with life. The Corner Bar and 7-11 provided him with most of his non-swimming food. The shops were quaint and catered to tourism during the summer and locals in the winter.

Women, both local and "citiots" (a combo of city-idiots the captain called them) were drawn to Toki by his accent, body, and music talents, rarely leaving him alone on an eventful night. He didn't talk about this much with the rest of the crew. Usually his company was gone before morning, before the rest of the crew got on the boat. The Captain was usually the only one to see them come or go.

He had worked for her going on almost five years now. Technically he was a deck hand, but he filled whatever position was needed. It wasn't the most profitable of jobs, but it was work. The free lodging and all the fish he could catch didn't hurt either. Also, he was surprised to find Captain Laura a lover of music and took him to the open mic nights at a coffee house she frequented on Wednesdays.

Last week there was a new face in the crowd. He wore clothes that were just a little too formal for the setting, and paid extra attention to the entertainment instead of the food and drink. When Toki finished playing the man approached him and gave him his business card, saying he was a talent scout for a band needing a new guitarist. There was an address, date and time written on the back of the card.

That time was now only a few hours away, and if the seriousness of the man was any indication, he should be there. If he could make it in New York City, he was told he could make it anywhere.

* * *

Today was the day they got their new guitarist and the thought made Skwisgaar sick to his stomach. Now that M.H. was gone he was getting comfortable being the only one who's riffs would be heard in the next album. He could do rhythm and lead, recording each separately and editing them into the CD, but that didn't work in concerts. Granted Pickles, the drummer could play guitar alright, but there would be no drums then. It was inevitable that they would need another band member. Skwisgaar was just hoping it wouldn't be so soon.

Looking at his Rolex he figured he should at least get up and take a shower before the auditioning started. Crawling out from under his polar bear skin blankets he walked naked to his massive bathroom, ignoring the two hookers still asleep in his bead. The klokateers would clear them out before he even washed his hair.

* * *

Outside the recording studio Toki and Laura pulled up in a worn '89 Honda Accord. "This looks like it." Laura said, double checking the address. "Alright there's no way in hell I'm going to find a parking spot, so I'm going to go check out China Town for a while. Give me a call when you're all done, alright?"

"Okay." Toki said getting out of the car before pulling his guitar out of the back seat. "Wishes me luck."

"You don't need it."

* * *

Skwisgaar rubbed his temples as the auditions went on and on. Where did the talent scouts get these dildos? Tallentless fuck after tallentless fuck streamed in the door and played the song they had chosen to apply. One guy had even come in playing a ballad. A fucking ballad!

Charles, the bands CFO had dismissed one guitarist after another until the line outside the door diminished to none. The four remaining members of Dethklok looked at each other with annoyed disdain. "I told ye we shoulda gone to Hollywood, ya douchebags." Said Pickles as he rummaged through the mini bar.

Their manager shifted the glasses on his face. "Well it seems that we will go there soon enough, after interviewing applicants in Chicago and Tuscon first. There seems to be-" His sentence was cut short when there was a knock at the door. A tall, well built man poked his masked head in.

"Pardon the interruption my Lords, but there is one more applicant. He claims he hit traffic."

Charles cleared his throat. "The application process is over. We've had enough disappointments for one day." The band let out a cumulative sigh of relief.

"Shank you." Murderface spat in relief.

"Yes my Lords." The klokateer said before vanishing back through the door, leaving it partially open. "I'm sorry Mr..."

"Toki."

A pair of ears perked up inside the room.

"...Toki. The auditions are over." He said in the most monotone, spirit crushing voice Toki had heard in over a decade. Standing there in silence for a moment, he tried to think of how to explain that he never even got to see the band. "Sir, please don't make me escort you out."

"I can't sees dem at all?" He asked.

"No." The hooded man did not elaborate.

"Fine." He said, defeated, before turning to leave. Half way down the hall he heard a deep, thick accented voice call to him.

"Toki?!"

He turned. The man was very tall, with long blonde hair and had a face that struck Toki as one he should remember. When the blonde got closer he did. "Skwis...Skwisgaar right?" He smiled remembering the name. "You gave me de tickets to New York!"

"Ja." He nodded as if it weren't a life altering action to the young man. _"So you're auditioning for Dethklok?"_ He asked in Swedish, remembering that Toki understood it. It was refreshing to speak his mother language to someone other than himself.

"_Yeah...well I was. Your audition is over."_

Slinging an arm over Toki's shoulder he began to lead him back to the room, past the confused klokateer. "_We have time for one more." _He suddenly became serious. _"Now when you go in there don't play what I heard at the pub in Ireland. That was good but this is a death metal band. The last guy to play something happy nearly got a bottle of booze tossed at him." _Toki suddenly looked nervous. "_I'm not letting you play because I like you." _He clarified. "_I'm letting you play because I know you've got talent, but not enough to show me up. No offense."_

"_None taken."_

"_So when you get in there you play the hardest, fastest, most complicated music you can muster. Alright?" _Toki nodded. _"And no letting on that I was nice to you. I've kinda got this loner, asshole thing going for me."_

"_Sure." _The younger main said, smiling a little.

"Good." Skwisgaar said in English, shoving Toki through the door. "Now don't be makings me looks bad."

Stumbling through the doorway, he caught his footing and looked up at four pairs of annoyed faces. "Is this an, uh, friend of yours Skwisgaar?" The manager asked.

"No. Dis some kid I saw play in Irelands years backwards. He ams better dan de dildos dat play today."

"Very well." He turned to Toki. "You have five minutes."

Suddenly in the spotlight, Toki began to panic. His heart was pounding in his ears as the bands glare bored holes in him. Plugging his guitar into the provided amp, he the strap over his shoulder and closed his eyes. Skwisgaar had told him to play something metal. The only metal he had ever heard was angry, loud, and got his heart racing like no other type of music could. He thought of that as other thoughts crept into his head.

Suddenly Toki's wrists itched. As if there was cold metal pressed hard against them.

With that fear, hatred, nightmares, sorrow, and pain crept into his heart, down his arms, and into his fingers.

Eleven minutes later he finished, barely hearing any of his own notes. Realizing he was clenching his jaw he relaxed it and opened his eyes. Three of the four faces looked in shock, including Skwisgaars. The man in the suit only seemed mildly impressed.

Oh Odin, he was good, Skwisgaar worried. He had expected the young man to play something above and beyond what he had heard from the other applicants, but nothing like THAT. What he just heard was almost as fast, almost as metal, almost as brutal as his own playing. This was great for the band, but very bad for him.

The band was looking for a rhythm guitarist...not someone that had the potential to upstage Skwisgaar and replace him. Torn between the bands future and his own he looked at his manager for an answer, trying not to show the worry in his own ice blue eyes.

Making a few notes on his clipboard for what seemed like forever, he finally placed the pen in his coat pocket and looked up at the young man.

"Welcome to Dethklok."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Alright it was a short chapter, and I know I said I would make this only three chapters. However, I'm going to make one more chapter for those who enjoy T/S slash. If you don't enjoy that sorta thing, don't read the next chapter when I write it.

Reviews = Brutal Love


	4. Epilogue

I'm not sure if you could call this the Epilogue to my story or simply a 4th chapter. It's your choice. If you are not a fan of slash, you can choose to ignore this chapter like many of us ignored the Epilogue to Harry Potter. ~gives meaningful look to the fans out there~

Anyway, this may be the final chapter to this story, but I am not done writing Dethklok fanfics by a long shot. So keep an eye out. Enjoy!

***SUPER SLASH WARNING***...and some WAFF

I don't own shit.

**Kindred**

July 2009

(in between season 2 and 3)

Charles Foster Ofdensen was dead.

Skwisgaar lie on his polar bear skin bedspread as his fingers danced quietly across the strings of his Gibson. He reflected solemnly on the events of the past few days.

The funeral for their CFO was a week ago and he had to admit, as elaborate and ornate as it was, it wasn't good enough. The sealed casket was made out of black oak and was burned, viking style, before the band and all the klokateers to see. He would have preferred to see the robot...Charles's face -he corrected himself- one more time before he was reduced to ashes and cast into the winds. However, his will had very strict instructions to make it otherwise.

They were still watching the flames of Mordhaus be doused when they received the news that Charles was pronounced dead. Skwisgaar didn't believe it. Even when his managers body was slipped into a black, zippered bag and carried off by the coroner, the lead guitarist stood numb for several long moments. It was definitely not brutal to show emotion at his passing, especially when employees were dropping like flies on an almost common basis around Mordhaus. But when Toki was informed of the news, even in his inebriated state, he understood and without shame started to openly sob. Falling to his knees in the ash laden mud, he wept like a child.

Seeing such a display of emotion caused the Swedes well built resolve to crack around the edges. It had a similar affect on the rest of the band. Nathan looked at his shoes intently, his hair hiding his eyes misting up. William burst out, saying, "Schtupid fucking Robot! Who needsh em!" But couldn't hide the tremble in his shoulders and the intense clench in his jaw. Nobody responded to his statement, knowing that not a word of it was true.

Pickles was surprisingly open with his emotions, although not as much as Toki. He wiped away a few of his own tears with his wristbands as he helped Toki up. "C'mon, Toki. Charlie wouldn't want ye in the mud like that." Once he got him to his feet the younger man stood with his back to Skwisgaar for a moment, watching their home smolder.

In the next few moments Nathan, Pickles and William dispersed to check on the damage and make sure the threat had passed. Skwisgaar knew it would probably be wise to look around as well, but for some reason he couldn't leave his band mates side. Especially in the state he was in.

For a long few moments they both stood in silence, Skwisgaar wasn't sure if there was anything he could say to snap Toki out of it or make him feel better. He opened his mouth to try. "Toki..." He didn't get any more words out as the younger man spun around and wrapped his arms around his ribs, pressing his face into Skwisgaars black shirt. He made no sound, but the trembling in his shoulders gave away his sobs.

The blonde held his arms far to his sides awkwardly. Sex with countless women was one thing, but he wasn't one for people invading his personal space without permission. Under normal circumstances he would have pushed Toki away and call him a crybaby, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

Hesitating at first, he slowly wrapped his arms around Toki's shaking shoulders, feeling them slow to a stop under his touch. It was at that moment that Skwisgaar realized that the first real hug he had received since Merit, was from the sobbing Norwegian in his arms.

As he rested his chin on top of the other mans head he prayed to the Norse Gods that nobody was watching.

Opening his eyes, Skwisgaar took in the blinding white ceiling of his own room. With the renovations going on all hours of the day he didn't get his usual 4am-noon sleep. He must have nodded off.

Thankfully their sleeping quarters weren't as badly damaged as the main halls. A few boards of sheet rock and a coat of paint and his room was as good as new. Although the fabric still held the slight smell of smoke, no matter how much it had been washed.

Skwisgaar looked at the clock on his end table, 2:35am. He probably should get some sleep while he could, but he was feeling restless. Maybe a drink or some six-star food would help him sleep. As he sat up on the edge of his bed he wondered to himself how they could save Jean Pier after he went through chopper blades, but they couldn't save their father figure -he admitted that much now- from a beating.

* * *

Sitting in the middle of the tiled kitchen floor Toki flipped through the pages of the Finnish Folklore Book Of Necronomic Spells as he double checked his ingredients. Water, carbon, ammonia, phosphorus, salt, sulfur, fluorine, iron, lime, iron, silicon, and remains of the person you wanted to bring back.

Considering the ash remains of Charles's body was flowing the upper gulf stream at the moment, Toki had to settle for a few strands of hair he got from a comb he found in their managers bathroom.

The tables, chairs, and rolling shelves in the kitchen were pushed to the sides of the wall, making room for a ten foot diameter spell circle. A circle with an eight pointed star and various other points, shapes, and symbols were drawn out with the salt and other elements. The rest was mixed in with a large pot of water in the middle of the circle.

Blood of the one casting the spell was the last ingredient.

Taking one final puff of his joint he put it out in a nearby ashtray before taking a swig of Jack Daniels. He wanted to get this done and cleaned up before the construction crew came back in the morning. Picking up a pairing knife he slit his thumb as he approached the circle. Standing at its edge he began to squeeze his finger over the border line.

The wind was knocked out of him as he was slammed back onto one of the stainless steel tables. Above him was a pale blonde blur as a fist made contact with his jaw. His head was still spinning when he was hoisted back up by the collar of his shirt. _"What the FUCK do you think you're doing, Toki?!" _He heard Skwisgaars deep voice in the most angry tone he had ever heard come from the mans mouth.

Warm blood began to flow from the corner of Toki's split lip as he responded. "Tryings to bring Ofdensen back!" He yelled back at the taller man, the corners of his eyes welling up.

Skwisgaar looked at the book on the table and shook Toki by the shirt when he saw what page he was on. _"Don't you think I read through that whole fucking book the moment we got back into the house? I didn't follow up on any of them because we have no fucking idea what we're doing and the smallest fuck up makes your life forfeit. Example!" _He dragged the younger man back to the spell, purposefully breaking the salt line with his foot as they neared it.

Still holding Toki up with one hand he pointed to the pot in the middle of the room. _"I'd bet my skills as a guitarist that you didn't include stainless steel in the ingredients." _

Toki's eyes went wide as he realized his grave error. Skwisgaar must have seen the expression on his face because he released his shirt and went to the table, picking up the knocked over bottle of Jack and taking a swig of it himself. Leaning against the wall he slid to the floor. "_Toki." _He continued calmly in Swedish, not wanting to be misunderstood. _"Do you have so little stock in your own life?" _The younger man said nothing, still staring at the circle. _"He's gone Toki. We're just going to have to manage without him."_

"_I'm sick of it, Skwisgaar." _He said, talking half to himself. "_Everyone I begin to care about dies. Why would it make much of a difference if I went too while trying to get one of them back? It's not like any of you guys care about me."_

Skwisgaar opened his mouth and closed it again, unsure how to respond.

Not bothering to stand up Toki crawled the few feet between them and leaned against the wall near Skwisgaar, snatching the bottle away from the blonde and taking two large gulps. _"I'll be loosing you next, I suppose." _He said, slurring a bit. Looking to his side he saw a quizzical look cross the blondes face.

"What's you mean, Toki?" Skwisgaar asked, unaware that he had switched back to English.

Perhaps it was the alcohol coursing through his veins, the close call with death, or the light concussion combined with the close proximity to his band mate, but in one fleeting instant Toki thought, 'Fuck it.' Next thing he felt was his own bruising lips crashing down on top of Skwisgaars.

They stayed like that for a few long seconds before Skwisgaar pushed him away roughly. It took Toki an instant to realize that the overhead florescent lights had been turned on and someone was coming into the kitchen. Before Toki could respond Skwisgaar was on his feet and opening the door to the massive walk in fridge, obstructing the view of the ruined spell circle and disheveled rhythm guitarist.

"Whadyoo doing up this early... or late?" Pickles voice echoed off the walls.

"Just getinks drinks. Cant sleeps. Whats you ams doings awake?"

"I been playing dis pre-released copy of dis game, Borderlands. Its addictive." There was some rummaging in the fridge as the drummer picked a bottle of liquor. "Ya wanna play? There's a co-op mode." There was a pause. "Izzat blood on your face?"

Skwisgaar grabbed a beer, wiping the blood off the corner of his lip. "Whats? A vampires can't be gettingks a snacks without being bothered?" He joked. Toki heard Pickles chuckle. "Ja, sure. I plays de games." He said closing the fridge door, making sure that Pickles was half way out of the kitchen before he did. As Skwisgaar passed through the door he glanced back at Toki over his shoulder before vanishing as well.

Sprawled out on the tile floor, Toki licked his lips wincing both at his stinging split lip and the friendship he had potentially just destroyed.

* * *

~Three days later

Normally Skwisgaar didn't gather up his own laundry, but his mind was in need of occupation and plucking at his Gibson -for once- just wasn't doing it. It didn't take him long and for a moment he thought about washing it himself...but then thought better of it. He would probably shrink the whole load. As he placed it outside his bedroom door he nearly bumped into one of his personal Klokateers.

"Oh! Pardon me, my Lord." Said number 626. As far as his assistants go, she was one of the rare ones that remained uninjured and alive for the longest among her ranks. Some of the other Klokateers joked that she was as resistant as the little Disney monster that shared her number. "Was I tardy, Sir? I was just about to come get this for you."

"No." Skwisgaar said flatly. "I am just tryingks to keep busy."

She paused a moment, searching for words. "If I may be so bold to ask, my Lord. Is something bothering you? I know since Sir Ofdensens passing the house seems downtrodden, but you seem a bit on edge these last few days...Sir." She added. "Is it anything I can help with?"

Skwisgaar considered a moment. Ever since Toki had hastily kissed him in the kitchen he avoided him at all cost, and when they were forced to be in the same room, the younger man never made eye contact.

The fact that Skwisgaar wasn't completely repulsed by the kiss bothered him more than anything. He was the token man-whore of Dethklok, and there was nothing metal about kissing other guys.

He had liked it, and hated himself for it.

As if on cue, the object of his irritation walked by his door towards the kitchen, not peeking in or acknowledging him in any way. To say things were awkward was to say that the ocean was damp.

"Notinks I tink you can be helpinks with." He said solemnly.

If Skwisgaar could see 626's face under her hood, he would have seen her raise an eyebrow to the stomach clenching look on her blonde wards face. "Well if you need anything, my Lord, don't hesitate to page me." She turned and left the room, picking up his laundry as she went and leaving the agitated metal god behind her.

* * *

Tucking the black shirt into his hip-ass pocket Toki grinned to himself that his pickpocketing skills were still up to snuff enough to snatch things from dirty clothes hampers unnoticed. Leaving his prize for later he pushed open the stainless double doors to the kitchen and made his way to the fridge. Rummaging for a specific tupperwear container he mused on recent events.

The kitchen had been cleaned up since 'that night' and all the tables moved back to their original location, but ever time he glanced at the corner where he kissed Skwisgaar he got a nervous tightness in his stomach. Partially because it opened up a floodgate of emotions, both good and bad, and changed his his feelings of admiration for the taller guitarist to a misplaced sexual tension that would not go away.

Every time he looked at the man his face felt hot and he had to will himself, with much difficulty, to not lick his lips at the blondes image. He wondered if this is how all those fan girls felt.

To make matters worse, Skwisgaar seemed more distant than ever. Going so far as refraining from making fun of him, even when Toki left him wide open for an insult.

Their relationship was always one of admiration, annoyance, respect, skill, and a stable balance of mutual disdain and friendship. Now, Toki was certain that Skwisgaar hated him. It was only a matter of time before it began to affect the band and he would be kicked out in due time. He might as well just enjoy his time in Mordhaus while it lasted.

Finding the scallop ceviche (seafood cured in lime juice with herbs) he put the container on the table before scooping some on homemade crackers Jean Pier had left for them. Forgetting a drink he went back into the walk-in fridge, the door closing most of the way behind him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Pushing the double doors open Skwisgaar scanned the kitchen. He was certain that Toki had come down the hallway in this direction. As the sound of his boots on the tile echoed against the walls as he searched. He needed to talk to the other guitarist and he needed to talk to him now. Before the tension between the two of them began to effect the rest of the band.

Finding plate of food and an open container on one of the counter tops, he looked around again for whomever was eating it. Picking up a cracker he smelled it, finding it mouth watering. It must have been Tokis. Nobody ate fish as much as the younger man did, other than Skwisgaar of course. Figuring he would at least enjoy a snack before continuing his search he lifted one of the morsels to his mouth.

The cracker was millimeters from his lips when a strong hand grasped the Swede's wrist. "Don't touch dat!" Toki said quickly. Where had he come from? "Its full wit cilantro."

Wrist still being held, Skwisgaar swallowed hard. He was normally so careful about checking his food for the herb that he was violently allergic to. Had Toki not stopped him, he would probably have gone into anaphylactic shock and been dead on the kitchen floor within minutes.

Tokis hand still around his wrist, they looked at each other for a few long seconds. Each individual not knowing the appropriate thing to say.

But when the younger guitarist pulled the morsel and Skwisgaars fingers into his mouth the blondes breath caught in his throat. For an instant Toki's azure gaze lingered on his while drowning in such lust Skwisgaar wondered if it was really his band mate standing before him. As he pulled away it left a string of saliva from Toki's bruised lips to Skwisgaars glistening fingers.

When the brunette leaned in closer the small of Skwisgaars back pressed hard against the cold steel of the table. He had never backed away from someones advances before, but then again he had never been advanced on by an extremely well built, skilled, male guitarist. "Toki?" He choked.

Whatever had the rhythm guitarist on autopilot immediately shattered, changing his expression from lust to fear. Without another word or explanation he turned and left. The double doors swinging freely as Toki fled the room. It was only then that Skwisgaar realized that he was leaning back, half way across the stainless steel table.

There was no denying that his fingers tingled from more than the traces of cilantro on them, and there was no excuse for why his pants were suddenly a size too small.

Sitting up he took a deep breath to try and gather himself. He hat to talk to Toki and fix this whole situation. He couldn't very well risk the younger man approaching him like that again in front of other people.

Taking a few moments he considered the ways to approach his fellow guitarist. He had to nip this in the bud before it got any worse for the good of the band. Despite what his body and heart was telling him, his mind would have to win over...for once.

* * *

Toki's heart was pounding in his chest as he slammed his bedroom door closed behind him. _What the fuck was that?! _His thoughts screamed at him. His concern for his band mates safety switched over to lust so quickly when he touched the bare skin of Skwisgaars arm. He wanted so badly to touch more of that pale, perfect skin. For his mouth to explore it, touch it, taste it.

His cock was pressing painfully against his normally loose pants as the visions ran through his head. He needed to relieve some tension, now, or he would go insane.

Throwing himself on his bed he unzipped his jeans and took his member in his hand and gave it a few quick strokes. He closed his eyes and imagined long slender fingers doing it instead. Remembering his prize, he reached into his pocket and pulled out Skwisgaars shirt which he inhaled deeply. His mind was drunk with pheromones as began to stroke himself faster and with more urgency. In what seemed like record time he was nearing his climax as he moaned desperately into the stolen shirt.

He was so caught up in the moment he forgot that he had neglected to lock his bedroom door. When he was so close to coming he could taste it, the door swung open.

* * *

Skwisgaar could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Not only had he caught someone masturbating, but it was the same person who was nearly grinding against him moments earlier, and... "Ams dat my shirt?" He asked, lacking anything better to say.

"No!" Toki squeaked, tucking the offending article behind his bed as he made a vain attempt to cover himself.

This time it was Skwisgaars turn to grab Toki's wrists. The Swede was vain, that much was known to everyone, but catching someone masturbating to the smell of his dirty laundry, well... that was something that stroked more than his ego. "What has you been doingks to yourself, Little Toki?" Skwisgaar whispered hoarsely as he released the younger mans wrists.

Toki instinctively backed himself against his bedroom wall, his eyes still wide in shock. "I...mmm" He started, but was cut off when Skwisgaars lips crashed around his own. He could feel him tense under his administrations at first, but once his tongue began to tease his mouth he melted.

Strong hands tangled themselves in blonde locks as he lowered himself onto his band made. He could feel his member grind against his lower abs as he began to gyrate over him, causing him to moan into his mouth. It was a sound he would not soon forget.

Pulling away for an instant Skwisgaar pulled his shirt over his head and discarded it to a random corner of the room. When Toki did the same he crashed back down onto him. Right now there was no gay or straight, right or wrong, up or down. There was just the two kindred spirits, doing what they both had wanted to do for longer than either of them would acknowledge.

Toki gasped as Skwisgaar reached between the two of them and took the younger mans member in his hand, stroking it at the same pace the two of them were grinding together.

Dominating over him, watching his cerulean eyes roll back in his head as a flush crossed his handsome face, and his hard body tense under his administrations was one of the hottest things the blonde had ever seen. He had to have him, now.

Taking his hand away from Toki he watched as his eyes pleaded not to stop. Skwisgaar didn't waste time stripping himself of his boots and remaining clothes as Toki did the same. Before returning to his pleading lips he ran a well salivated hand over his own member before doing similar to Toki's weeping length, causing another guttural wine of pleasure to emanate from the brunette.

On top of the other man again Skwisgaar ran his hand south of Toki's glistening erection, teasing a wet finger around the younger mans entrance. When he inserted a finger a mew escaped Toki's mouth instead of the expected wine or hiss of pain. In the back of Skwisgaars dirty mind he wondered if Toki had done this to himself in the past. When he inserted a second and third finger the rhythm guitarist was practically bucking his hips up into him for more.

Granting his wish, Skwisgaar nudged Toki's legs aside with his knees and pressed his throbbing erection at his entrance. Slowly, tortuously, he pushed in. Pulling yet another moan of pleasure from his partners lips as he sheathed himself fully.

Not needing any, there was no tender slow dance to their lovemaking. It was fast, and hard, and as brutal as any of the music either of them had ever played. It wasn't long before both of their worlds shattered, leaving the two of them in a sweaty, messy pile of metal Gods.

Not really knowing why, Toki wrapped his arms around the taller man laying on him and placed his chin atop the blondes disheveled head.

They would wait till later to figure out weather they wanted to do this again, which they would. Whether to inform the band, which they wouldn't for a long while. And weather it would effect the continuity of the band, which it didn't.

Right before Toki drifted off to sleep he realized that finally, his sheets didn't smell like smoke anymore.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fucking finally!!! OMG you have no idea how many writers block moments I had writing this chapter. Phew!

So, whatcha think of my first multi-chapter Dethklok story?

Reviews=Brutal Love


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